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letra de old photograph - john musto

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there she is. at antibes i’d guess
by the pines, the garden, the sea shine

she’s laughing. oh, she always laughed
at cameras. she’d laugh and run
before that devil in the lens could catch her
he’s caught her this time, though: look at her
eyes — her eyes aren’t laughing

there’s no such thing as fragrance in a photograph
but this one seems to hold a fragrance —
fresh-washed gingham in a summer wind
old? oh, thirty maybe. almost thirty
this would have been the year i went to persia —
they called it persia then — shiraz
bushire, the caspian, isfahan
she sent me the news in envelopes lined in blue
the children were well. the murphys were angels:
they had given her new potatoes sweet as peas
on a white plate under the linden tree
she was singing melisande with croiza —
“mes longues cheveux.” she was quite, quite well
i was almost out of my mind with longing for her

there she is that summer in antibes —
laughing
with frightened eyes

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